


I told you so

by pipkin



Category: SHINee
Genre: ((((cute without plot)))), M/M, almost CWP, and all through the house, except kibum who kicked minho out of bed, it was the night before christmas, minkey, not a creature was stirring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 23:39:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9095716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipkin/pseuds/pipkin
Summary: When you had an argument, but then you get sick.





	

It was Friday night and the working day for offices and nine-to-fives had ended an hour ago. The air was chilled, but festive and urgent, and though it was drizzling and ought to be miserable, the street lights twinkled mischievously, window displays enticing many an innocent passerby to purchase one last Christmas present.

Inside one of these shops was a fashionable man, dressed with such care that you knew he spent a lot of time on it. He was absentmindedly adjusting his clothes, smiling his assent at the pretty cashier who was offering to wrap his gift. It was a scarf – of course it was a scarf – and he was absolutely certain his boyfriend would love this one. This was his fifth try.

The first time, he had looked at the sleeping face on the pillow beside him, and suddenly felt that the bold design wouldn’t complement the brown of his skin. In the shadowy half light it was smooth and still, and he had spent a few minutes prodding it until his boyfriend grumpily turned over. So he’d returned it. The second time, he saw him coming out of the shower, and was struck by how inadequate a pastel colour would be against his throat, so he’d returned that too, and then spent an entire evening wrapping various items around his part-amused, part-perplexed partner’s neck. He didn’t care if he was being obvious. It was more important that he picked the right one. There wouldn’t be any more chances now; Christmas was exactly two sleeps away, and he hoped and hoped that his mind wouldn’t change on this.

He was just wondering if he should choose a back up, when the cashier asked for his loyalty card, and he shook off the idea of spending even more money, handing over the little rectangle where _Kim Kibum_ was typed in a stylish slanted font on the back. He’d been coming to this shop for years and yet he had never worn a single thing from here. (Apart from one tshirt from the top of the laundry basket, but that was just once, and he had missed his boyfriend, and honestly, no one needed to know about that night.)

‘Ah,’ he said, suddenly remembering. ‘Can I have a gift tag too?’ She handed him a tag and a pen, and he quickly doodled a stick man with a fly away scarf around his neck. Dammit, it looked like a noose. He laughed, adding ‘For Minho’ and a loopy oversized heart, handing it back to the cashier who quirked an eyebrow – before quickly adopted her professional smile again. God, it really must look like a hanged man.

An hour later he arrived home, tired but cheerful, wriggling happily in Minho’s warm embrace. He had stepped out of the kitchen to open the door for him, and the house smelt strongly of roasting tomatoes and sage. Mmmm.

‘You smell delicious,’ he greeted, kissing him. He loved this time of year; Minho would start making Christmas dinner days in advance and the house would smell comforting and Christmassy, and it made his job of putting up decorations even more enjoyable.

‘I am delicious,’ Minho agreed. ‘Hey, did they keep you late again?’ Minho asked, pulling a face as he released him. ‘That’s literally every evening this week, what kind of miserable company…?’ Kibum hummed in reply. He had been kept late every day – apart from today, miraculously – and he was tired, but he was determined to enjoy all the time off that he could get. Parties, presents, as much alcohol as he could consume. He was so looking forward to it. He rushed upstairs leaving Minho to go back to the kitchen, but ten minutes later he was back to grab some beer.

‘Wait, where’re you going?’ Minho asked, reaching out to make him pause. He took in Kibum’s outfit, the slight makeup and the six pack in his hands.

‘Woohyun’s party. I told you last week.’ Kibum said, smiling up at him.

‘Oh.’

‘What, did you forget?’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘I definitely told you baby.’

‘But aren’t you exhausted? I mean, you’ve been at work late every day this week, and you’re starting to look quite rundown. Stay in and rest, I don’t think going out will help-’

‘Yeah, work was gross!’ Kibum exclaimed. ‘And now I want to go out and relax and forget those people.’

There was a pause.

‘Okay.’ Minho turned back to the stove, effectively shutting Kibum out. ‘Have a good time,’ he said quietly.

‘Wait, are you mad? Minho that’s not fair.’ Minho stayed quiet. ‘Seriously?!’

‘I just think it’s a better idea to stay home.’

‘And I already have plans to go out. Why do you have to be like this?’ Kibum asked, exasperated. His buoyant good mood began to leak away. ‘I’m not even saying you should come with me for God’s sake, so what’s your problem?’ Minho turned back around, his eyebrows creased in a frown.

‘Alright, I’m sorry. Go.’

‘What, and that makes everything better now?’ He stared hard at Minho’s face, but Minho apparently found his slippers fascinating, and the refusal to look at him irritated Kibum further. ‘I will go, and I will have fun, and it won’t be boring, like being here with you would be.’ He had meant to be cutting, and the hurt on Minho’s face gave him a moment of vindictive pleasure before he regretted it.

He walked out of the house, uncomfortable that Minho hadn’t seen him out, but in the taxi a few minutes later his phone bleeped and all his irritation came rushing back.

7:45 It’s really cold tonight. Don’t come home too late.

He huffed, rolling his eyes and exclaiming to the surprised taxi driver.

'And now he thinks he’s my dad!’

***

Kibum let himself in at three, feeling nauseous and not even that drunk. He had spent the whole party trying to enjoy himself, but arguing with Minho made him antsy and he mind kept wondering back to him, cursing, and feeling bad in turns. _Stupid Minho who had ruined his entire mood, stupid Minho who probably ate his dinner alone, know-it-all Minho who was right about how tired he was_. Kibum washed his makeup off and grimaced at his face in the mirror, warily prodding at his throat. He swallowed, and winced. Great. Oh God he hated it when Minho was right. He walked to the kitchen to cut himself a slice of ginger, and he fell asleep chewing it and staring at Minho’s back.

***

On Christmas Eve he woke, covers kicked away, his body heated and dry. He struggled to sit up, grabbing the bottle of water on the bedside table, swallowing only a little before the pain in his throat flared angrily.

‘Minho?’ he whimpered. But Minho’s side of the bed was empty and when he looked up at the clock on the wall, it was past noon. Kibum burrowed back into his bed, pulling his duvet up and feeling desperately sorry for himself. He tried to go back to sleep but he kept thinking about a joke he heard last night. He wanted to share it, except he couldn’t speak, so he was drawing it and painting it and miming it, but Minho wouldn’t turn around, and when he texted, Minho put his phone in the fridge. He kept repeating the scene and trying to come up with better solutions, but his thoughts spun on regardless of his bodily pain; he was working on Christmas, and he could see Min eating in the wardrobe because he thought Kibum didn’t care, and he still wouldn’t listen to the joke, and he sat there drinking all the beer instead.

It seemed to go on for hours, a incessant repetitive reel, and he was shivering under the duvet because he was so cold and so sad, and when Minho pulled it off him half an hour later, Kibum wasted no time in trapping him in a hug and begging him to listen. He didn’t hear his reply, he just felt Minho’s voice reverberating through his chest and he hugged him tighter until Minho unwound his arms and sat on the bed to pull him onto his lap.

‘You’re burning up, Bummie. I bought you some tea.’ There was less emotion in his voice than usual, but he kissed Kibum’s temple and reached over, carefully lifting the steaming mug and putting it into his hands. Kibum glanced back at him for a second and lowered his mouth to take a sip. The heat soothed his throat, the burn of the ginger comforting him.

‘My throat hurts,’ he whispered. Minho hummed, and a moment later Kibum felt his hand slide beneath his chin, the exploring pressure from his thumb and index finger on his swollen lymph nodes making his jerk his head up. ‘Ow, stop,’ he whimpered.

‘Tonsillitis?’ Kibum didn’t reply, staring into his mug, and Minho sighed, waiting for him to finish his drink.

The rest of the day was the most unChristmassy Christmas Eve they’d ever had together, with Kibum shivering and heating up in turns, waking up from his naps full of repetitive dreams, to drink or slurp whatever it was Minho was plying him with. A few hours in, Minho had found the pain killers and handed them over. Honestly, he didn’t like taking tablets and he preferred natural remedies, but this was for Kibum, and his fever wasn’t even letting up enough for him to sleep.

‘Minho, it hurts,’ Kibum whispered at some point in the evening, feeling itty bitty and quite pathetic, and wanting everything to be okay with Minho again. He looked up at him, pleading with his eyes, and he really must have looked pitiful because Minho sighed and shook his head, looking out of the window for a moment and then back at him.

‘Move up,’ he instructed, and waited for Kibum to shuffle over to his side. He climbed in, and Kibum snuggled close, putting his head on his chest. Minho looked down at him, a mixture of worry and affection, and stroked the hair from his face. He was pale and his eyes were rubbed sore. ‘So,’ Minho began, still stroking his hair. ‘Who was at the party then?’

Kibum sighed.

‘Oh, I don’t know…everyone nearly.’

‘Was it good?’

‘No.’

‘What?’

‘Sorry for yesterday. I don’t think you’re boring.’ Kibum said breathlessly, this much talking a bit much for him.

‘Really?’

‘Only a little bit.’ Minho laughed and kissed his head. ‘Why were you mad?,' Kibum continued. 'I didn’t do anything.’

‘Um.’ He waited as Minho shifted uncomfortably and swallowed. ‘I wanted to eat dinner with you. And I was looking forward to it because you seemed really tired for the past few days. And I didn’t see you much,’ he finished, his voice dropping into a mutter.

‘You didn’t say!’ Kibum rasped.

‘Sorry.’

‘Tell me next time.’

‘But you had plans anyway.’

‘I would’ve come back early. Water?’ They sat up and Minho insisted on holding the bottle for him, ignoring Kibum’s eye roll. He drank, nestling back against Minho.

‘Sweetheart, there’s something on the stove.’

‘Just a bit more.’

‘Two minutes.’ Kibum hummed in agreement, and pulled Minho's arms around him.

‘I feel a bit better.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re not very good at hiding presents you know. Did you draw me dying or–?’

‘Hey! You will be dead, you weren’t meant to look!’

‘Honey, you put it in the wardrobe. On my side.’

‘Still. Stop spoiling everything.’

Minho chuckled and they lay in silence for a minute, Kibum’s fingers idly playing with the sleeves of Minhos’s jumper, tracing the bumps in the knitwear all the way down to his jeans. And then there was a zip to play with. And a button.

‘Bummie.’

‘Hmm?’

‘You still have a fever.’

‘I said I feel better.’ Minho laughed incredulously, turning Kibum’s face so he could kiss him right on his mouth. Kibum pouted. ‘Why do you never get sick?’

‘Because.’ Minho stalled, holding Kibum’s gaze as he seriously considered.

‘What?’ Kibum prompted.

‘I’m a stallion.’

Kibum erupted with laughter, and then with pain, clutching his throat, and somehow Minho ended up on the floor. Not that it mattered because he needed to check the stove anyway, and he was quite sure that if Kibum was strong enough to push him, he was definitely strong enough to find himself some water. He got up and walked off laughing, not looking back even though he could hear Kibum cursing him out between his gasps for water.

(A few minutes later he returned with a mug of warm water. He could be mean, but he wasn’t cruel, and seeing Kibum crumpled up and so unlike his usual poised self made his breath hitch with a rush of affection. Even when Kibum was being deliberately contrary, he loved him, and he couldn't stay cross with him. The thing was, Kibum knew that too.)

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, do not kiss someone on the mouth when they have tonsillitis.  
> This is for Leah, my shinee secret santa recipient - I hope you like it!  
> 


End file.
